Paradise Found
by Miouhaneun
Summary: A poor orphan girl cursed with a name too big for her, was 'sent to heaven', and got cast into hell. A twist of fate has set her free, but what will she do with the new life she has been given?
1. Chapter 1

**1**

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They used to pray to me. Men fell to their knees in worship, kissing the ground I walked upon. Hands were raised towards me, seeking my blessing... But those days are long gone, I have been cast down. Now I am in hell, and my mind is lost in nightmares.

The moon is growing. Its blackness is like staring into an abyss. It grows and grows, devouring the stars on its way. It weeps dark tears which fall upon the earth, melting all that they touch. The ground trembles and opens up in long, gaping gashes, like mouths eager to drink their fill.

I run but I get nowhere. I sink into quicksand, as the moon eats the world behind me. The light fades, and I sink deeper and deeper the harder I struggle. The last thing I see is the moon staring down at me like a giant, bleeding eye, and then I sink below the surface. It is cold, and I feel the earth's body pressing against me as the air in my lungs run out. I fight, but I can no longer move. I need to breathe, but the earth squeezes me in its tight embrace. My fingers claw through the dirt and my throat burns as if it has been set on fire. I part my lips in a soundless scream, and sand fills my mouth. I try not to breathe, but my body fights and kicks against its own dying. I convulse, and my throat spastically gulps for air. The sand tears through me like razors, but I get no air. The light flickers in and out of my mind. I jerk, my throat latch opens and closes as the muscles heave more and more of airless dirt into me. It feels like I am being torn apart, limb by limb. And then... finally... I die.

Except I don't.

Instead, I wake. My eyes open to a dark sky where stars twinkle like gems strewn across black velvet. I draw breath, drinking in fresh air that smells like water and grass. Sweet as honey, it glides down my throat until I feel drunk on it. I sit and before me lies an open landscape, untouched by human hands. My eyes roam across my body as though they have never seen it before. It does not look like my body, but I am inside it, so it must be mine.

I look around and see that I am at the centre of a small crater, as if something big fell down and now, in its stead, here I sit. The moon showers the grassy fields in its pale blue light, and I think see the shape of trees far off into the distance. To be honest though, they might as well be mountains, or something else about as tall as trees or mountains. Are they moving? I think they might be moving.

I was "sent to Paradise"... Paradise, yeah right. Did he who named it think himself clever? If anything, the name points to someone being rather simple minded. I almost pity the fool who came up with it, even though I am sure his family must be mighty proud of him. Anyway, unless the mindless flesh has learned to spout wings, which seems unlikely if you ask me, I must still be on the fabled Paradis Island.

I stand up. From this vantage, the crater looks just about big enough to fit a... you know what.

I remember perfectly well how I lost my humanity; sharp stones dug into my feet as they walked me up towards the edge, the man shoved me forward hoping I would fall, and the needle stung as they sunk it into me. The contents of the syringe burned like fire inside me, and then I felt myself dissolve. I was turned into mindless flesh, but by some twist of fate I am returned to myself.

I raise my hands towards the sky. If the moon turned into one of them fat Marley swine right now I would embrace him, because what he tried to take from me has been returned. They tried to throw me away, but they failed. Laughter bursts from my lips and I sway slowly from side to side like a dancer, or an open flame.

I am free.

I look towards the maybe-trees or maybe-mountains. That's the way I should go, whether they be trees or mountains, or something else entirely. My new life awaits me. I begin to walk, and after some time I pass by some actual trees and bushes. This will take forever at this pace. If only I could go faster...

Wait, I _can_ go faster if I can only figure out how to trigger the transformation. After all, there is only one way I could have been made human again– I must have eaten one of _them_, the vessels. Eugh, that is one pretty disgusting thought. I mean there is no telling where it might have been, and besides, people are quite literally rather full of shit... But wait, for me to be able to eat one of them, someone must have let them out of that shithole... Why have they been let out? Whatever the reason, they must be working for Marleynow. I'm not even sad I ate one of them, serves them right the damned traitors - to hell with them. The whole blasted world can rot for all I care.

I have decided to carry the name they condemned me for. I used to think the name Ymir was a loving gift, and that the power that came with it was my own. With hindsight, I feel rather different about it. Still, it is the one thing no brute force could take from me, and that has got to count for something.

Those are definitely not trees. They walk slowly but intently. Some have their heads lolling to one side, some look like they have tiny skeletal limbs in place of regular ones, some crawl or drag themselves forward - but most of them walk normally, like regular people out on a stroll, wearing nothing but the hair on their heads. I count thirteen ahead of me, which leaves hundreds, maybe thousands being somewhere else. Any time now I might turn around and see one behind me, trudging forward with its glassy eyes staring into yonder even though it is headed right for me.

I look behind me, seeing nothing but the shapes of grass and a few trees scattered about here and there. I do not know what is more unsettling, the idea of looking around the next group of trees to find them all advancing in some kind of disorganised formation, or wondering where they all could be since they are not here. It is not like they would be _doing_ anything, except seeking the descendants of Fritz's people.

I turn my gaze forward again. Is that smoke billowing towards the sky? Yes it is. It stands out against the backdrop of star spangled sky, like a bad omen. Maybe the walled people are celebrating something... but that would have to be one massive bonfire to be visible all this way. I think I see the outline of the wall now. A faint blue line seems to dash across the sky where the moon showers the top of the wall in its soft light. It is taller than I ever could have imagined. The sky has begun to brighten with the oncoming dawn, and I see _their_ naked forms more clearly now. Suddenly they look small, dwarfed by the immense height of King Fritz's last fortification.

At first I do not understand why the mindless flesh seem to draw together in formation, but then I see it – the hole in the wall. There must have been more than one of my brethren, and those remaining got here before me. So, there is an entrance after all, but if I go there I will die.

While pondering this cruel twist of fate I step into a crevice that might or might not have been a rabbit hole, and fall forward. The ground rushes up to greet me, and I hear a crunching sound as my nose flattens against it. I see stars as I move my head, and I hear more than I feel the bone and broken cartilage grinding together. Instead of pain, I feel a wave of heat as something inside me tears free. Flesh is ripped from my body, expanding and sprouting large, clawed limbs. My vision narrows and then disappears entirely. I hear a guttural cry uttered in a voice that is not my own, and then the nightmare takes hold.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Matthew0526:** This origin story is centered around Ymir, yes. The warriors will be referred to, but will play no major part in it._

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**2:**

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Talons rake at the ground as the monster barrels forward. The wind howls in my ears, rising and falling in pitch with each step, and I would swear that it screams with a voice I know from somewhere. Hair whips at the monsters face and into an open mouth filled with large, pointed teeth. Sinewy muscles tighten and extend with each galloping stride.

_Where am I?_

Slow, misshapen giants turn as the monster approaches. Their twisted limbs are either too long, or too short for their stature, not monstrous like the claws of the predator that approaches them, but strangely mismatched with the rest of their massive bodies. Their bland eyes stare without really seeing, their faces a mockery of human faces, all holding an expression of deep concentration, excruciating pain, or joyless ecstasy. Their hands reach out in greeting as the monster leaps off the ground. Claws rip through flesh like a knife through butter, cutting meat, skin and sinew into long, red ribbons. The taste of blood is in my mouth, rich and sweet and foul.

_Who am I?_

End. I want it to end, though I cannot remember why. They are looking, seeking, always searching. Their hands want to grasp, to rip, their jaws want to grind through grizzle and bone, witless as to _why _they want, and why they exist.

Droplets of blood splash across the monsters twisted face, and I feel a stinging in my eyes. Mist envelops me; the giants' shapes become pale and ghostly. The ground rumbles with their steps as the monster leaps between them, using its claws to cling to, and to cut its way through them. Their moans echo through me. When they fall, they do so peacefully, almost as if they are relieved to find themselves ending.

When the monster's grisly work is done it raises its ugly face towards the darkening sky, and howls.

It runs on all fours, faster than any man and any horse. The ground rushes past in a blur as the creature leaps over thickets, its movements quick and supple like that of a weasel, though no mustelids could hope to match its ugliness. The monster comes upon another great wall, too tall to have been built by human hands, and without hesitation it jumps up, its clawed hands scrabbling for purchase-. Like a leech it latches onto the wall's smooth surface, and the monster scurries up the wall like a giant louse climbing a curtain. Its back legs kick stones and pebbles loose to rain down upon the ground, farther and farther below.

It reaches the precipice, and I find myself looking down at what seems like the entire world, spreading out far below. The forest is dark, quiet, and vast where it looms at the foot of the wall. Beyond lies what must be settlements, scattered across an open landscape of what must be grassy plains and fields. Some, there in the distance, look large enough to be villages, perhaps even cities, while the closer ones are more likely to be little groups of hovels stood close together. Only one or two flickering lights are to be seen in most settlements, but far away I see a strange tipped formation protruding outward from the wall, and within it I see what can only be hundreds of lights burning, even in the dead of night. It can only be a city, and like a firefly, I feel myself drawn to it.

The monster turns its great ugly head back and forth, smelling the air like a hungry predator in search of its prey. It swings it thin body over the edge, digging its claws into the stone, and begins to slide towards the ground. Faster and faster it slides, down and down, the wall crumbling beneath its fingers. A deep grumbling rises inside the monster's throat, hair whipping around its face, its eyes scanning its surroundings in search of danger. The trees come rushing up to greet the ugly creature, and with a grunt it pushes off the wall, flinging itself towards the nearest tree trunk. It lands with a dull, resounding thud. The tree shivers and moans with the force of the impact, but holds. All goes still and quiet again.

Like a massive ape, the ugly monster uses its long arms to swing its body from one branch to another. It lands on the ground, silently this time, and I see it make one last sweep of its surroundings with cautious, black eyes. Its lips are pulled back in a perpetual snarl, as if its teeth are too big to fit inside its mouth. The monster gives a deep, resounding sigh, before it lies down. It curls up on its side, hugging its knees in a strangely sad, childish sort of way. Smoke rises from its flesh, hiding its body away from the world.

I wake up, dizzy, not knowing how I got here, or where "here" is supposed to be. I lie nestled in moss and soft underbrush, surrounded by tall trees of ash, elm, and evergreen. Some of the taller trees have massive trunks, too wide for one person to reach around, and while I feel that I have heard of their existence, I do not know their names. Faint light trickles through the gaps in the green canopy above, but down where I lie it is still quite dark... Not that I am afraid of the dark. In the dark, all things are made invisible, and all hiding places are made good hiding places. Still, I feel like a cat in water right now. The silence feels heavy and frail at the same time, like crystal glass, and I hope nothing breaks it, since it would mean that I am not alone in here. There are so many trees, rocks and crevices where things could hide. Better not think on it. Better not consider how big and hungry something would have to be to consider whether or not I am a tasty treat either.

I rise, and begin to wander. The nightmare comes back in fragments, muddy and jumbled. I do not know how much time has passed since I stumbled out of hell, and awoke upon the opens plains of Paradis. Either dusk or dawn colours the sky a bright pink, and that is all I know. Up ahead I see something pale, rising and disappearing up into the leafy canopy. I walk up to it, placing my hand against its cool, smooth surface.

"Stupid bloody wall," I mutter. "Stupid me, walking the wrong way."

I look up and see broken branches in the trees where the monster came crashing down. The marks its claws left in the wall are shallow but clearly visible. I wonder when someone will come upon them, and if they will puzzle over what happened here. Does their imagination run wild enough to divine what crested their wall, and plunged beyond it?

I shake my head. Why should I care? It is nothing to me.

I recall lights in the protruding district, as if cast by a larger city within. Were I a tiger, the city would be my jungle. It is easy to hide within a city, and there is always plenty of food about if you are quick on your feet and nimble-fingered. Out here is only trees and fields and I know nothing of farming, so the choice of where to go really is not that difficult to make. My eyes scan to my left, and to my right, but I see no indication of which way is the right one. The brightening sky is not helping either, were it dark I might be able to spot the light from the city-district, but now all I see between the leaves and pine branches is pink sky and an orange cloud. Guess I should not be surprised - the world has never bothered to help me before, why should it change now?

I had stood atop the wall and looked towards the walled city-district, or... No, the ugly titan with the long limbs and black eyes had been the one to see the lights. Although I guess which things it saw, and which things I saw is just two sides of the same coin. The real question is, which way had it been facing when we saw the lights?

I place myself with my back towards the wall. We would have been coming in, and should have been facing this way. I try to remember which way the titan's head had swung; left first, or right?

In the end I go right, keeping within view of the wall. After some time, my stomach begins to grumble. Just how long has it been since I ate anything? Well, aside from one of my brethren, that is. It could be five days, five years, or five decades since I enjoyed my last meal, although saying that I enjoyed it would be putting it a bit strongly. My flock made sure I never went hungry, but rich foods, sweeteners and spices were never plentiful in Liberio. On that last morning I broke my fast on porridge with a sliced apple on top, and a half-stale wedge of bread. The men came later that day, with their uniforms and their weapons, and I learned that the love of men is worth less than dust.

The sky turns an innocent blue as I walk, sun blazing down at me, and I begin to sweat underneath the rags I intend to pass off as clothes, should I ever come upon civilization again. I begin to tell myself that I am not thirsty, but the farther I walk, the harder it becomes to ignore the clawing dryness inside my throat. I seek out the shade beneath the trees, not wanting to waste the moisture inside me on sweat, and I try to keep from wetting my cracked lips. My legs begin to ache, blisters form on my naked feet before bursting, and I forget the meaning of the word "comfort".

I hear the sound of running water long before I catch a glimpse of the stream. Almost in disbelief, I stumble towards it, slip, and fall face first into the small creek leaping across the forest floor. The water is muddy and odd-tasting, but I gulp it down anyway. When my stomach feels full to bursting I sit back up. The roaring lion that lives inside my stomach seems appeased by this offering of water, for the moment at least, which is a relief. I look around, and see the stream disappearing into a hole in the ground some yards away. There must be a drain of some sort there, hidden beneath the lush undergrowth. I might just have drunk someone's drainage water. The thought makes me feel a little queasy. I get back up, though my body screams in protest, telling myself that it cannot be far now. Just a few more steps, and I will find the city looming around the next bend, or beyond the next rise.

The sun is on its way down when I leave the forest behind me. A dirt path leads up to a cobbled road, and buildings cluster around the gate leading into the city-district beyond. The street is bustling and crowded with both man and beast. I see children clad in clean garb running and playing, riding on stick-horses. I stop and look as they swing their plump little arms, shouting commands to each other as they take chase after an imaginary foe.

Someone gives a sharp whistle, and then I hear a rumble of steel enforced wheels and galloping hoof-beats against the cobbles. I turn around, only to fling myself out of the way as the closed carriage storms past. I hear a scream further up the road, and the sound of shattering wood as the carriage runs over a bucket someone dropped in their rush to get out of the way.

I see something like soldiers giving the carriage dirty looks as it barrels through the gate and continues into the district beyond. As I come closer it becomes clear that they are indeed soldiers, but what in the world are they wearing? I have seen much, but I never thought I would see the day when military men wore white trousers and ridiculous, short-cropped jackets. Just what are all those leather straps supposed to be, suspenders? Some kind of harness? Those boxy things at their sides must be scabbards, though they look nothing like any scabbard I have seen before.

They are passing a bottle hidden within a paper bag between them, and their flushed cheeks and watery eyes leaves no room for me to wonder whether or not they are drunk. Their muskets are leaned against the wall in a corner, forgotten, with no one watching over them. I must admit, I am tempted to sneak one off, just to see how long it would take someone to realise it is missing. They do not even look at me as I approach them, and I look as though I have been through the wars - or so I assume. I catch a strong whiff of pungent alcohol as I come up to the man with his back to the street.

"And she says to me, 'what the Fritz are you doing here Veit?' to which I answer her 'I heard that from your mouth comes the sweetest song in all the lands, so I came to hear it'," he slurs, and judging from the look on his comrades faces, this story is expected to be one of unmatched cheek and hilarity.

The continuation of this story gets lost in the general clamour as a short, stout man with a dour comes dragging a boy by the ear, barking for justice. He stops before the soldiers, throwing the boy to the ground before he explains his business in a gruff voice. I decide this is a good time to sneak through the gate. As I pass by the drunken storyteller, I take the opportunity to lift his coin purse.

I walk through the gateway at a leisurely pace, and looking up I note the lack of murder holes around the gatehouse. Once through I continue down the main street for a bit, before I turn right down a narrow alleyway. Finding myself alone, I tally the contents of the man's purse; five small bronze coins bearing a royal lily.

I hear a noise from above, a banging as if someone has thrown a window open, and before I have a chance to move I feel water, and other things of unidentified origin raining down on me. The stink is terrible. I utter a guttural cry, looking up to see who just tossed their waste on my head. A young woman's surprised face hovers by the window on the third floor of the building. She stares at me, and as I am about to utter a few well chosen curses, she slams the window shut.

I hurry away, before someone else feels encouraged to throw things at me. After a while my nose goes accustomed to the foul smell, and I begin to take in the other odours of the city again. I better learn the name of this place quickly, as well as the coins, or there might be trouble waiting for me in the near future.

I try not to attract attention as I skirt one of the wider streets, commerce in full swing, listening to people haggle over the price of wares such as flour, muslin, salt and eggs. A man wearing a fine, brass clasped and patterned leather vest wrinkles his nose as I draw close, his sentence cutting off mid-way through. He had been negotiating the price of one of the white chickens kept inside the merchant's wooden cages, flashing his coin purse to show he had the means to pay him. He sniffs, disapproving eyes tracing their way to me.

"You there," he says, clearly speaking to me. I stand at the side with my back pressed against the wall, hoping to catch the last warmth of the sun before it sets. "What do you think you're doing here? This is not a place for your kind, off with you before I call the guards!"

"I was just standing here. This isn't your street, is it?" I reply before I have a chance to stay my tongue. By the mean glint in his eyes, I know I have made a grievous mistake.

"Thief!" the man bellows, pointing at me. "Guards! Quickly, this thief made for my purse. I demand justice. Guards!"

The man keeps shouting, waving one hand in the air and pointing to me with the other. All around us people turn, seeking the source of the commotion, and several sets of hands go to firmly clutch their pouches and purses. I see two guards turning a corner further down the road, and at firstthey do not seem to hear the word "thief" shouted, perhaps because of all the other voices shouting other things like "Where?", "Someone say cutpurse?", "Give 'em here and I'll show 'em what happens to...", and one loud voice absurdly calling for someone named Ursula, over and over. The crowd begins to push and shove, a great flock of people suddenly eager to either depart while their coin is still in their possession, or make a personal stand against crime by taking down the assailant and no doubt beating them with whatever object is at hand. Like those of bloodhounds, the soldier's ears prick up as they catch someone closer to them calling the word "thief", and they begin shoving their way towards me.

I dance around a slow man with arms as thick as tree trunks when he makes to grab my filth-stained garb, dodging and turning. As soon as I break free of the crowd I run, hearing the guards calling for me to halt, and hearing the sound of their boots against the cobbles as they follow me.

I run until I see dark spots dancing before my eyes, long after the sound of their footsteps has faded, until the taste of blood is in my mouth. Up and down narrow alleyways, over wooden fences and through open gates I go, until I do not know how far I have come from where I started. I could have gone in circles for all I know. I crouch, panting, and realise that I am still clutching another man's small coin purse in my hand.

_I used to be a goddess. _I squeeze the leather pouch hard, my hand shaking. _A goddess, you thrice damned peasant. _Although I suppose it was just a pretty lie I told myself, a mummer's farce, and I the fool dressed in motley.

At least I learned something. The bronze coins with the cast spear-like lilies are called 'princes', and ten of them seemed to be two short of buying a live chicken. The vested man has flashed silver in his pouch, but how many bronze make up one silver, and the name of the larger silver coins, I still do not know. If I want to keep my freedom I might do well to stay away from silver, and the trouble it causes. Too many guards around. I can outrun two, but next time there might be more than two.

_I never expected to run from men with roses sewn onto their jackets... What are they supposed to be, the Flower Brigade? _Those swords they carry might do more than prick you though. I look at the coin pouch in my hand.

_Five bronze princes, and the soiled rags on my back. Well, I've had less, I suppose._

I sought out the rougher neighbourhoods, where rats had as big a presence in the streets as people did, and where you could sometimes sleep on the dry ground inside abandoned hovels and burned out buildings. The alleys were home to run down bars, pleasure houses, shady traders and kitchens selling various unsavoury dishes. Three of my princes bought me a bowl of stew, the meat of which I suspected to be rat, not that I cared. I found myself a place to sleep inside a moderately dry roofless hovel where I spread old newspapers over myself, and slept the night through. It was not much, but it was the start of my new life. It rained a week later, and I showered myself in the water running from the roof of one of the buildings.

I learn that stealing little things such as hats, jewellery and edible things is safer, and often more profitable than cutting purses. Most people here do not have much coin, and what little they have the squirrel away instead of taking it with them to the markets. Where I take my goods depends on what I have brought in. The kitchens will trade vegetables, seeds and other such things for a meal if your bring enough to please them. A few places deal in jewellery, one in hats, several will buy shoes. The pleasure houses are excellent places for finding good, shiny shoes, if you are resourceful enough to get through the door. The proprietors do not love my kind, and will whip you if they catch you at your thievery, or even turn you in to the rosy soldiers if they are in an especially foul mood. Other places trade in other, darker and more devious things after sundown. I keep away from those places.

It is late, on a particularly cold night, when I seek the warmth of a fire. I brave the street, sneaking through the alleys quiet as a cat, or a rat. The wind chills me to the bone, and I wonder what I might do to keep warm during the winter months. This is Karanes, east and north of the mild south. There will not be snow here in the winter, but the nights will be cold and damp, and the days will grow shorter. That will be tomorrow's concern, I decide. Now I just want to be warm.

I slide around the corner, coming upon a small square. At first I intent to continue on, as there is no fire here, but then I see something that gives me pause. A huge, shiny black carriage blocks one of the adjoining alleys completely. I hear the snorts of the horses on the other sides, but I cannot tell if the driver is in his seat or not. A heap of crates and barrels stands not far behind the carriage, and it is the glint of gold that catches my eye and halts my step. My first thought it to keep going, to forget all that is gold and glimmers. Before I feel that I have made any decision on the matter, my body betrays me, and I draw closer to the object sitting atop an old oaken crate. I stop to listen, and imagine I hear murmuring voices from the end of another alleyway. Logic would suggest that the owner of one of these voices is also the owner of this strange golden object.

I come even closer, and see that I was mistaken. What looked like gold in the blue light from the moon above is actually brass, polished to a beautiful high shine. The flat, round disc's outer rim encircles a cobweb pattern etched into the metal's surface. Within the circle is another, smaller circle, and its edge is adorned with strange letters and tiny digits. Two straight, brass arms are fastened at the centre of the disc, pointing towards the outer circle in opposite directions, and they look as though you could turn them. Before I know it, the object is in my hand and I turn the little arms around the circle, like the wings of a windmill. It is strange and beautiful, but what in the world is it?

"I believe you have something of mine."

The voice makes me flinch and look up, and up, until I meet the eyes of the man standing a few feet away. I find myself staring up the barrel of a large pistol, and the hand that holds it belongs to one of the tallest men I have ever seen.

"This thing?" I say, trying to see the expression on his face. The voice had been flat, and strangely polite considering the circumstances. "You really ought not to leave trinkets like this one sitting in the open, especially in places such as this."

"Oh but I was just around the corner," he says lightly. The brim of his top hat casts his eyes in shadow.

_Even he must now that we are in the ass-end of Karanes. He must be toying with me. _The thought sours me.

"I wasn't going to steal it," I say, not really knowing why I even try.

"Put it down now." He uses the muzzle of his pistol to point to the barrel I had plucked the object from to start with. His voice is silky, and so quiet I must almost strain to hear.

I obey him.

"What is it?" I do not know what possesses me to tickle this bear when I should really tuck my tail and run.

"Something valuable. It would fetch a higher price than you, no matter which market I go to. It is certainly not a thing for someone such as you to steal." He pulls back the cock, as if to fire on me at any minute. "I usually take a hand from any thief I catch, or at least the fingers that did the deed," he says in a voice that implies the thought amuses him.

Another man emerges from the street behind the tall, pistol-holding stranger. This one's face is framed with thick, reddish whiskers, and his mouth is a sour line of disapproval.

"What's this?" he says, looking at me through tiny, piggish eyes. "A thief? Want me to stick it, sir?" He pulls a dagger from inside his waistcoat.

My eyes search for an escape route, but instead I find that the driver of the carriage has squeezed through the gap between wagon and wall and has come into the square behind me, shouldering a musket.

"I would rather have you retrieve the item, Krauss."

"Good idea sir, very good," this man Krauss says, sounding disappointed that no 'sticking' will be required. He strides smoothly, taking the brass object in his rather large, calloused hand, before returning to his master's side.

"I could give you to the Garrison," the man muses, and I feel myself tensing. I would rather have my hand cut off. It would hurt, but it would also grow back.

As if he knows my thoughts, the man smiles. With his sharp jaw, thin cheeks and pointed, hawkish nose, he does not have a face made for smiles. His bared teeth look like a warning, not an expression of humour.

"You would not like that, I think. Not at all. All you want is to go your way, am I right?"

_If I answer, I give him just what he wants. _I stare at him. My body wants to step back, but if I start moving I might not be able to make it stop again. If the rosy soldiers get their hands on me, will I ever be let out again?

"Clever cat, keeping its mouth shut." He says it with a note of approval in his voice. "It might be that someone quick and quiet could do something for me, and be free to go as it pleases once the deed is done."

Who does this prick think he is? I could ask him, but something about him tells me I better not. I wonder if he would not cut my hand off himself, wearing the same blank expression as he hacks through bone and grizzle.

"What if I refuse?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"If you refuse," he says mildly, moving his free hand to his side, pushing his open coat back to show a sword fastened to his hip. "The Military Police will surely appreciate their new plaything. They might even like you more after I take both hands."

I blink, wetting my dry lips.

"You said-" I begin.

"I said I am of the habit to take the hand that steals from me. I believe you held my previous object with both hands."

_What will they do to me when my hands grow back before their eyes?_

He has me, and the bastard knows it.

"What do you need from me?" I say grudgingly.

His eyes go to the driver whose musket is still aimed at me.

"Ready the carriage Mr. Meyr. We will be going now."

The man is quick to obey. Krauss, still holding the brass object I am accused of attempting to steal, seems confused by this turn of events.

"Sir, you... you mean to take it with us?" he asks, and I cannot say whether 'it' is meant to be the object, or me. The master gives his servant a withering look.

"Am I in the habit of letting servants question me, Krauss?"

The man shrinks back. "N-no sir." He bows his head.

"Come, cat." He lowers his pistol and begins to walk towards the alley at the end of which the driver has readied the carriage.

I consider running, but see that Krauss hand has gone to his dagger. Who is this man? Someone important? If I run from him now, it might be I need to keep running. He might have friends within the Flower Brigade, or that Military Police he spoke of. I just want to be left alone.

He looks behind him before he climbs the ladder, and I catch the first glimpse of his eyes. They look black, but it must be a trick of the light. Once inside, he beckons me to follow. I slide onto a soft seat of dyed leather. The inside of the carriage smells of something floral, and when I see my naked feet and hands contrasted against the pristine interior, I realise for the first time just how dirty I am.

The carriage rocks softly as Krauss steps onto the back, and then we are on our way.

"Where are we going?" I ask, knowing that he can lie to me, or tell me the truth, if that pleases him. He removes his top hat, and in the light I see that his stern eyes are a dark shade of blue. There are streaks of silver in his blonde hair, and he uses his fingers to comb it back from his high, square forehead.

"Mitras," he says, as if that is supposed to impress me.

I have no idea what a 'Mitras' is, and I expect it shows on my blank face.

"Strange cat, who does not know the name of the inner city."

"I am no cat," I grumble. I have no idea what 'the inner city' is either, but he does not know that.

"And what a shame it is. A cat may a go where men cannot, and hears things others do not. What is your name, girl?"

A cat has claws, and fangs. I suppose I do too, but I think it best this bastard does not know that.

"Ymir," I say. "Just Ymir."

"Oh?" he says, looking at me with a measure of interest. "Ymir. What an unusual name, peculiar even. You may call me Doctor, just Doctor."

Doctor? Is that supposed to be clever, or funny?

"Sure. What do you want me to do, _Doctor_?"

He either does not notice that I use the name ironically, or simply does not care.

"I need you to carry a certain message to a certain man. Some say he is dead, others claim that he does not exist, but they all call him by the same name."

"Which is?" I ask, finding this toying with words annoying.

"The Ripper."


End file.
